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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006945">Hello My Old Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/noheroesallowed/pseuds/noheroesallowed'>noheroesallowed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Racism, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:40:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30006945</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/noheroesallowed/pseuds/noheroesallowed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Pain recognises pain," she told him softly. "Doesn't mean I understand everything you went through, but I can see the ache is there. I know the world tells you to move on, but move on doesn't always mean let go, Steve. It just means that you should grant yourself the kindness to live a life worth living."</p><p>Steve meets Julia in 2014. Over the years, life seems to push them together and a friendship blooms in the rubble that is Steve's life. </p><p>A fix-it over the years, starting at The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So. It's been a few years since I've last shared my writing with anyone other than one of my friends, so this feels like a big step. English isn't my native language and I don't have a beta, so some mistakes might've slipped through. The title is taken from the song of the same title by The Oh Hellos. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julia rubbed her eye, careful not to knock the glasses off her face. It had been a long day: usually she’d already be at home, but the paperwork seemed to keep coming today. Ninety minutes past her usual clock-out time, she was down to the last file, when a voice piped up. </p><p>“Guess who I met today,” Sam said, leaning against the doorframe of her office. </p><p>“If you can give me… Five minutes, I’ll be all yours,” she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen in front of her. Sam didn’t make a habit of showing up at her office often, but when he did, it usually was to pick her up and chat the ears clean off her head on the way home. </p><p>“Alright,” he agreed, sliding down in the chair in front of her desk, fishing his phone of his pocket. “It’ll blow your socks off, though.” </p><p>“Sam,” she met his eyes with a quiet warning. He threw his hands up in surrender, pulling an innocent face before focussing on his phone. </p><p>Though it took a bit more than five minutes, she made her way through the file before shutting down the computer. “Now, what was so exciting that you had to pick me up from work?” she asked, picking her laptop out of a drawer on her right and sliding it in her bag, eyeing Sam as she put her other things away. </p><p>“Captain America,” he simply said with a smug smile. </p><p>“Captain America,” she repeated with a monotone voice. “On the news? Something happen I didn’t hear yet?” </p><p>“No, he beat me in running.”</p><p>“… I’m gonna need some context here, Sam.” </p><p>“So, you know how I go for a run every morning, right? And all of a sudden, I hear ‘on your left,’ out of nowhere. Man ran three laps in the time in took me complete mine. Passed me several times, before laughing at me for catching my breath after.” </p><p>Julia laughed in surprise, not quite knowing what to make of his story. “Sam, that can’t be. I thought he lived in New York?”</p><p>“I’m telling you!” he exclaimed, picking her jacket off the coatrack, and handing it to her. “It was him. SHIELD headquarters are located here, he must’ve relocated for work.” </p><p>“Huh,” she hummed, lifting her bag onto her shoulder. “Weird coincidence, though. You took the car here?” </p><p>He nodded in reply, following her out the office as she locked the door behind them, before heading towards the exit of the building. “Yes. Picked up groceries, too.” </p><p>“I really don’t get that no one’s snagged you up yet, Wilson. Look at you. Doing groceries, and you clean too. What a dream.” </p><p>“If only we met before, huh McCoy,” he grinned, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close with a grin. “We would’ve made a power couple.” </p><p>“See, you’d think that, but I’m not so sure. Where’s your car?” </p><p>Sam vaguely waved to the sea of cars on his right. “Somewhere over there. We don’t all have the privilege of employee parking.” </p><p>“You have the veteran discount; I have the parking. And only here, too. See you at home, though?” she asked, rumbling around her bag in search of her keys. “You should’ve just waited for me at home, Sam. Now we have to both sit in traffic.” </p><p>“Worth it!” he called out, pointing his finger towards the sky, grin audible in his voice. Julia snorted, shaking her head as she made her way to her car. Sliding onto the passenger’s seat, she placed her bag on the floor on the passenger’s side before placing the keys in the ignition and making her way out of the parking lot. The drive home was never a long one, the apartment she and Sam shared located conveniently close to work. Though they both earned enough to have their own apartment, there was comfort in coming home to another person at the end of the day. To someone who understood. </p><p>Sam understood. He knew, because he felt it, too. The guilt, the hollow feeling looming in the back of your chest, like someone had blown a hole straight through you. The feeling of downright <em>fear</em> at times, of yourself, of the world, of the hole living in your chest. Of what could’ve been. Always there. Always present. </p><p>The decision to share an apartment wasn’t one that was made over night. They both had the initial need to be left alone, but neither found comfort in the silence. Still, it took a little over a year before Julia ended her lease and moved in with Sam. On some days it was still hard, living with someone who knew the pain. In the end, though, it was good to have someone there who understood how it felt.</p><p>Some days it was small, tiny, barely noticeable. Other days, it was all consuming. Living with Sam made it easier. The days where the sun was shining seemed to happen more often. The hole in her chest seemed to shrink. Still there, though. Always there. </p><p>Under her shirt, hidden away from the world, a ring softly jingled against a dog tag, the last thing left of the man she’d never hold again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. You are alive, but are you living?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Steve meets Sam at the VA.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I keep a massive spreadsheet around, in an attempt to wrap my head around what happens when, and was surprised to learn that TWS takes place in what basically amounts to a long weekend, according to the MCU wikia. That being said, I mostly went off the actual scene at the VA from TWS, but made some changes to (mainly) the dialogue. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam stood in front of a group of ex-military people, listening intently to the woman in the middle of the group. Leading his second peer session of the day, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, but it always felt harrowing to hear the confessions of people’s trauma. This time a plastic bag. An hour ago, some fireworks set off by neighbourhood kids. Small things, that triggered huge emotional responses. As she finished her story up, Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other before starting his spiel. </p><p>“At the end of the day, we leave some stuff there, and we take stuff home. It’s our job to figure out how to carry it. Is that gonna be in a big bag, or a small purse. That’s left to us to figure out. It’ll be really hard, don’t get me wrong,” he said, earning a snort from someone in the room. “But it needs to be done. For yourself and for your loved ones. For now, though, does anyone else want to share anything?” </p><p>He looked around the room, trying to see if he saw any unfamiliar faces that usually hesitated to share their first time round. During his last look around, he spotted a figure out of the corner of his eye, leaning against a pillar and listening in. </p><p>Apart from an awkward cough, it stayed silent. </p><p>“Well, that’s it for today, then. Thank you all for coming in today and sharing with everyone. I know it’s hard, but it’s a crucial step towards recovery. On your way out, there are the flyers to the right as always. They really are worth checking out, believe it or not. I hope to see you all next week.” </p><p>The sound of metal folding chairs screeching over the hardwood floor echoed through the room as everyone started to file out. He followed them, saying goodbye to people that addressed him until he was left in the empty hallway, bar the man leaning against the wall behind him.</p><p>“Look who it is,” Sam grinned as he turned towards him. “The running man.” </p><p>Though it had only been yesterday, Julia kept telling Sam it couldn’t have been Steve, that it must’ve been a fluke or a very convincing lookalike. Yet here he was, standing in the middle of the hallway, a gentle smile on his face as he looked at Sam. </p><p>“I caught the last few minutes. That’s some heavy stuff,” Steve said with a soft smile. </p><p>“Yeah man, we all deal with the same issues. Guilt, regret. You name it.” </p><p>“You lose someone?” </p><p>Sam’s face fell, looking down at the flyers he was stacking. Talking about it, though good for healing and giving everything a place, never got any easier. He swallowed in attempt to get rid of the lump and his throat and looked at Steve, who patiently waited for an answer. </p><p>“Yeah. My wingman, Riley. Standard night mission, nothing we hadn’t done a thousand times before. It was fine, until an RPG knocked his dumb ass out of the sky. Nothing I could do. It’s like I was there just to watch.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Steve replied. </p><p>‘I’m sorry’ had mostly lost its meaning for Sam, despite the knowledge that people meant well. Coming from military, though, it always felt different. They knew. They had lived that. Sam wasn’t stupid: they covered the basics on the Howling Commandos when he was in high school. He knew what had happened to Steve’s best friend. </p><p>“After that,” Sam continued, “I had a really hard time trying to find a reason to serve.” </p><p>“But you’re happy now, back in the real world?” Steve asked, confirming Sam’s suspicion. He wasn’t here to just say hi. He was here for someone who understood. </p><p>“Well,” Sam said. “The amount of people telling me what do, is down to about zero,” he gestured at the empty hallway. “So, hell yeah, I am. Best decision I could’ve made.” He grinned at Steve as a millisecond passed before he continued out of habit. “Why, are you thinking of getting out?” </p><p>In a blink or you miss it moment, an emotion Sam couldn’t place flashed over the man’s face. </p><p>“No,” Steve said quickly, before hesitating. “I don’t know. To be honest, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” </p><p>“Anything you want, man,” Sam replied with a mellow smile. “Really, the options are endless. What makes you happy?” </p><p>“I don’t know.” </p><p>It was an answer he’d gotten a lot. He had seen it dozens of times, but it never got any easier, seeing people that had fallen out of love with life. He hesitated for a second, squinting a little as tried to gauge Steve’s openness to suggestions. His arms were crossed, but it didn’t stop Sam from attempting anyway.</p><p>“You should meet Julia,” he said, crossing his arms to mirror Steve. “She’s… She was Riley’s girlfriend. They met right after our first deployment, and you just knew by looking at them, y’know?” </p><p>Steve nodded. “Yeah.” </p><p>“She’s great,” Sam continued, unfolding his arms and choosing to fuss with the folders on the table again. “I mean it. Strongest person I know. Lost everything when Riley died, though. Started from scratch, had to learn to enjoy life all over again. She teaches now, at the university. Leads a grief counselling group, too. I’m serious, though. I think you’d get along great.” </p><p>“I don’t know Sam,” Steve started, waving away the conversation. “I’m okay with serving. I’m… I was meant to be in service. I can’t just step out.” </p><p>“I’m not saying make rash decisions, I’m just saying that a friend never hurt anyone,” Sam reassured him, careful not to shoo him away entirely. </p><p>“It does when you have a target on your back.” </p><p> “Look man, I get that it’s hard. I really do. But being Captain America to the public doesn’t mean that there isn’t also just Steve.” </p><p>“I guess you’re right,” he admitted, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.</p><p>“You wanna grab a beer?” Sam offered. “I have to put this stuff away and lock up, but there’s a bar right around the corner.” </p><p>“I… Yeah, alright,” Steve agreed after some hesitation. “Why not. I’ll help you put the stuff away.” He reached for the flyers, but Sam yanked them away with a smile. </p><p>“It’ll only take a minute. The office is right there,” he said, pointing towards a door just a few feet away. “Hang on.” </p><p>With a jog, he made his way to his office and quickly put the flyers in their designated drawers in the filing cabinet. In one swooping motion, he grabbed his coat from the back his<br/>
chair and turned the lights off, before locking the door and turning back to Steve, who was stood in the same spot with a smile. </p><p>“Let’s go.”</p>
<hr/><p>An hour and a half later, Sam opened the door to the apartment and found Julia curled up on the couch with an iPad leaning against her knees. </p><p>“Hey,” she said, not looking up from whatever what was on the screen. “How’d it go?” </p><p>“Session was good. Had a beer with Steve after,” he said casually, kicking his shoes off near the door and hanging his coat on the coatrack.</p><p>“Who’s Steve?” she asked with a frown, looking at him as he sat down on the other end of the couch with a smug smile. </p><p>“Rogers.” </p><p>“Now you’re just taking the piss.” </p><p>“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “He’s really chill, actually. We talked about serving, and then just about some neat things from this century.” He purposefully left out that they also talked about her, not knowing how she’d feel about that.</p><p>“Bet he’s glad we don’t boil everything anymore,” she mumbled, pulling her legs up a little higher so Sam would have more space. </p><p>“That… that was actually one of the things he said, too.” </p><p>Julia started laughing as Sam watched her with a grin. “Can’t blame him,” she said. “My nana used to serve boiled potatoes six out of seven days a week for dinner. Take the lady out of Ireland, but can’t take Ireland out of the lady, grandpa used to say. There was maybe a day or three after she died that I kinda missed it, before that nostalgia wore off.” </p><p>“Ah, that’s why you never make boiled potatoes?” </p><p>She pulled a face and shook her head. “Exactly. Any potato beyond a boiled potato is fine. A good mash is great. Oven roasted? Perfect. Just never, ever boiled again.” </p><p>“Can’t say I blame you. You have work tomorrow?” </p><p>Julia nodded, folding the cover over the iPad and looking at Sam. “Two classes, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. Put an email out that I’m in office, if anyone wants to hop by. Should be home around four, though. You?” </p><p>Sam shifted, pulling his legs onto the couch as he settled in a more comfortable position. “No group sessions, just time for some walk-ins until lunch. Gotta do some paperwork, and I think I’m meeting someone in the afternoon. I’d have check my calendar, though.” </p><p>“Want me to get some groceries for dinner? I could do some salmon, and couscous-”</p><p>“Stop, don’t continue, you had me at salmon,” Sam grinned. “It’ll get way too sexy if you continue to tell me more. I’m in. Look at you, talking all dirty on a regular ‘ole Thursday evening.” </p><p>Julia shoved at his leg with a playful smile. Dirty talk had started to live a life of its own in the shared household, and it wasn’t the sexual kind. It was about cooking each other’s favourite foods, picking up flowers for the vase on the breakfast bar. It was remembering to replace the kitchen towels or buying the good juice when it was on offer at their local supermarket. The most domestic thing they could think of, was the general rule of thumb.</p><p>“Grilled veggies okay with that, though?” she asked, just to be sure.</p><p>“I’ll take whatever you get me, Jules. I better be off to bed, though,” he said, rising up and patting her knee. “No jog tomorrow morning, going out for some kickboxing with one of the guys.” </p><p>“Okay,” she smiled. “How cold was it, though? The jog? I might go for a skate, before classes. Or after, depending on the weather.” </p><p>“I mean, it’s January. But it was doable.” </p><p>“Mhh, okay. Thanks.” </p><p>“Of course. Sleep tight, Jules.”</p><p>“Hey Sam?” Julia called out, watching him skirt to a halt on first step of the stairs. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“We really gotta get you some other work clothes, man,” she whined, looking at the khaki slacks and button down he wore. “Those are a terrible fit. They look like you bought them blindly, and literally two sizes too big. We’re going to the mall for some new pants, dude. This Saturday. I get that they want you in something decent, but good lord man.” </p><p>“It’s not that bad!” he squawked, looking down at his outfit. “There is nothing wrong with this shirt!” </p><p>“Sam, literally everything apart from your socks and shoes is too big on you.” </p><p>“It is not.” </p><p>“Even if a size down wouldn’t fit, we are still going back for some slim fit pants. I don’t care if I have to drag you out, but I will.” </p><p>He watched her with pursed lips, eyeing her up and down as she watched him from the couch. “I suppose there is no way I can get out of that.” </p><p>“I will do ribs. Sunday night.” </p><p>“Your grandpa’s recipe?” he squinted. </p><p>“My grandpa’s recipe,” she confirmed, holding his gaze. “I’ll make rolls, too.” </p><p>“Fine,” he caved. “It better be worth it, though. See you tomorrow, kid.”</p><p>“Night, Sam.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter should be less dialogue heavy and more focussed on getting to know Julia. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. If there's a future</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Julia looks back at the last ten years of her life and some unexpected guests show up.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is where I would write something witty, except I've been playing Right This Way from Bandstand on repeat for three days now, so that probably says enough about my mental state at the moment. Next update might take a while, since I haven't finished writing it yet. Until then, hope life is being kind to you.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Saturday morning was a quiet one in the Wilson-McCoy household. Usually, Sam went out for a jog, leaving Julia in bed to sleep in longer that he did. Once both of them made it downstairs, brunch was a staple, alternating who made it week by week. This week marked Sam’s turn, which meant he probably either forgot, or just made some scrambled eggs and toast. Maybe some waffles, if he was feeling fancy.  </p><p>Today marked an exception to the sleeping in that usually occurred on Julia’s side: where she slept until ten on weekends, she woke up to Sam opening and closing the door just after seven. She usually woke up to that sound, but often fell right back asleep, but this time she was unable to. Not that that was a bad thing: she kind of liked having the mornings to herself. After the annoyance had faded, at least.</p><p>She sat up after thirty minutes of attempting to fall back asleep, tossing the sheets aside with a huff. There were several options: one, she could find Sam on his route, and join him on roller skates. Two, yoga. Three, and the most tempting: she could run a bath, and rewatch an episode or two of Parks and Rec.</p><p>The last. Definitely the last. </p><p>With a sigh, she made her way into the bathroom, quickly checking the temperature of the tap water (practically scalding, which meant it was perfect) before plugging the tub and leaving it fill up. Tossing her shirt in the laundry basket near the door, she went back to the dresser in her bedroom, where a glass jar filled with bath bombs stood on top, waiting to be used. After careful consideration, she fished one out, grabbed her iPad off the nightstand and made her way back into the bathroom, checking the water level in the tub with half an eye. Opening up the medicine cabinet, she scanned over the assortment of jars and bottles, looking for the jar that contained her facemask of choice. </p><p>Baths weren’t complete without a facemask, if you asked her. She used to just apply it and sit in the living room to read something, but that changed when she moved in with Sam. Though he got used to it after several times, she scared the ever-loving shit out of him the first time he came home to her sitting on the couch with a green mask all over her face. She even got him as far as using it himself, too, but she usually reserved it for times he wasn’t here, now.</p><p>Taking baths was something she had to relearn after Riley died. Selfcare in general, really. Being kind to herself wasn’t something that came natural to Julia, and Riley’s death amplified that thousandfold.</p><p>It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, looking back. </p><p>First major death occurred when she was 14. </p><p>Car accident. Both parents dead on impact.</p><p>She didn’t know how to process it, at the time. So, she didn’t. Anyone who asked got the same answer. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. And she was, to the eye of the world. She picked up life two weeks after the funeral, moving on as if nothing had happened. Went on to live with her grandparents, on her father’s side, the only living relatives left. Nana Joyce, and Grandpa Bob. It was fine: she was loved. So loved. But it wasn’t the same.</p><p>Summer of sophomore year in college. She was back home for the summer, seeing friends, working in the ice cream shop in the town centre, when tragedy struck again. Grandpa Bob died of a heart attack in broad daylight. </p><p>Nana Joyce followed not even a month later, passing away in her sleep.</p><p>Which left Julia alone, with no family whatsoever, at 20. </p><p>So she did what she did best: stuff every single ounce of emotion in a tight box in the back of her mind. She focussed on getting her degree and doing so flawlessly, rather than acknowledging the grief that was gnawing its way through all the boxes she stuffed it in. Her field of choice, religious studies, seemed ironic to her at times. No matter how many saints, religions or philosophies she learned about, she couldn’t bring herself to believe in a higher power. Not with the amount of absolute shit that had washed over her in the span of five years. </p><p>And then. Summer 2009. A year after she lost her grandparents, she met Riley. She was with Alison, the one friend that had stayed by her side all throughout college and the absolute breakdown that would follow, at the same bar they always went to. She was pretty sure Alison had slept with the bartender on more than one occasion, despite Alison adamantly denying anytime someone brought it up. That specific night, a voice had piped up behind her as she reached for her drink, delivering what must’ve been one of the most terrible pick-up lines she ever heard. </p><p>
  <em>“I am so glad I remembered to bring my library card!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“… And why is that?” she asked, turning around to see a young guy grinning widely at her, looking awfully proud of himself. His ears stuck out a little, and there was more than one pluck of hair trying to escape the gel he had used in an attempt to tame it. His eyes seemed kind, betraying the straight face he was desperately trying to pull. She laughed as she saw his mouth twitch, trying not to laugh while delivering the rest of the sentence.</em>
</p><p><em>“Because I am definitely checking you out.”</em> </p><p>Later that night, when they walked over the street after abandoning their friends at the bar, arms linked together, he explained that his friend Sam had dared him to use the worst pick-up line he could think of. It would mark the first of many times she’d quietly thank Sam for his loud mouth. </p><p>Neither of them looked back after that night. Two weeks into dating, he was telling her a story of something that had happened during his basic training, and she remembered knowing that she had fallen in love with him, then and there. </p><p>Riley took no precautions taking a sledgehammer to her carefully crafted walls, knocking them down with ease, showing her that she didn’t have to keep it all bottled up. He shared his own story, of how his mother died of cancer when he was eighteen. How he didn’t know his dad. How the death of his mother lead to him enlisting, knowing there weren’t any strings at home. Sharing all that with her made Julia feel safe, and so she started sharing things about her childhood and family. Things she hadn’t thought about in years, ever since their passing. Things like the fact that her dad was the kind of person that gave hugs that were a little too tight, but that made you feel loved. That her mother only made soup on Saturdays. That her grandpa, a big tough burly looking man was the baker in the house and made scones once a month. The fact that her nana never hesitated to leave colourful messages under the windshield wipers of lousy parkers.</p><p>With Riley, she learned to be whole person again, one beyond just academics. She didn’t have to beat herself up for slipping up with a final or paper, not with Riley around. Even if she wanted to, he wouldn’t let her. He showed her that taking care of yourself meant acknowledging the pain and loss, but also that it sometimes meant just sitting on the couch and reading a book. He was the first person that took her to her parents’ grave since she was 17, and didn’t complain when she squeezed his hand so tightly her knuckles turned white.<br/>
It took six months for Julia to realise Riley was it for her. It was everything she could’ve dreamed of, and yet somehow still better. Where he completed her, she did the same in return.</p><p>Until the late summer of 2011 rolled around. Riley came home from base early at night, white as sheet as he sunk down on a kitchen chair, telling her he got assigned on another tour, and it was urgent. They would leave in three days. They both cancelled everything that was on the calendar and spent the three days they had taking each other in, not knowing if the deployment would take six months, a year or more. There was no reason to believe he wouldn’t come home: if anyone was meticulous, it was Riley. Sam would back her up on that. He was careful, always considering all possible scenarios. It was never an if, it was a when he would come home. </p><p>He made a promise, telling her that he would get out as soon as he returned. She could work on getting her PhD, and he would get a job as counsellor at the VA. No one could’ve prepared her for the day she opened the door and was met with two men in uniform, asking her if they could come in. </p><p>He died in the field. There was no body to bring home. They were deeply sorry. </p><p>The world turned black that day. Everything she had spent years carefully closing off was blown wide open. The men that had shown up managed to find Alison as an emergency contact in her phone, who showed up with tears in her eyes ten minutes later, and held her until she had no tears left to cry. </p><p>Sam came home a month later and wordlessly handed her a small velvet box and damaged dog tags, the only thing they could salvage in the field. The box, he told her, Riley kept in the barracks next to his bunk, as a reminder of what was there to fight for. He would’ve proposed the minute he came home. They silently held each other for hours, no tears left to cry.</p><p>The year that followed Riley’s death was a dark one. She shut out the world, even Sam, spending her days either at the coffeeshop she worked at, skating across the city until her legs ached, or studying. She finished up her masters degree, ignoring all professors that asked if she was okay, telling her that it was okay to pause school for time being, and got a second job at a bar the moment she graduated. Spending her days at the coffeeshop and nights at the bar, leaving no spare time for herself to feel anything. </p><p>One day, around six months after Riley’s death, a costumer came in as she was wiping the tables in the coffeeshop, a golden retriever wearing a service vest by the woman’s side, happily wagging its tail. She walked up to the counter, past Julia, as the dog screeched to a halt and tugged its owner over to her, firmly butting its head against her thigh. </p><p>“I don’t want to be rude, but are you okay?” the woman asked. “He’s a therapy dog. I… We do grief counselling, he’s trained to sense sadness. You can give him a hug, if you want.” </p><p>Who knew it would take a therapy dog for Julia to break. She cried so hard her boss (and only other person on the floor that day) turned the sign on the door over to closed, after the woman quietly explained to him that she was a grief counsellor and that it might take a while. He left them alone after getting both Julia and the woman, who she later learned was called Kate, a cup of tea and telling them that they could take as long as they wanted. The shop didn’t open back up that day, as over the course of several hours, Julia told everything that had happened over the past ten years or so. At the end of the day, Kate agreed to work with her, but only if she agreed to start seeing a psychologist. </p><p>Julia went on to see Kate twice a week for a year, until they felt it was no longer necessary. The psychologist, she still saw to this day. In the year she worked with Kate, she moved in with Sam, after several conversations concluded that it would be a good choice for both of them. She learned that she no longer wanted to pursue a PhD, and that that was okay. She learned to be a person again, slowly, while acknowledging that it was okay that she still loved Riley. Learning to continue living didn’t mean having to let go, no matter how hard society would shout at her to do so. She applied as a guest lecturer at a university, and in the past year started working next to Kate, leading her own grief counselling group for teens who lost their parents. </p><p>It brought her here, to her bathroom at 25, living with a good friend. Being kind to herself, by letting herself feel the hurt that existed, but also taking the time to see the good in the world. </p><p>Once the bath had filled up to her liking, she lowered the bath bomb in, never quite able to bring herself to throw them in, and enjoyed the warm water until she heard the front door unlock, signalling that Sam had made it back from his run. On week days, his run wasn’t the longest, but on weekends he really took the time for a longer route that took him a while to complete, which must mean that she had been in the bath longer than she realised. Deciding that she had enough, she got out and wrapped herself in a towel and made her way to her room, where she fully dried off and sat on the bed, giving herself a moment before getting dressed. 

After fishing a pair of jeans out of the dresser, she plucked her favourite sweater from the chair in the corner of her room and headed downstairs, coming to a halt as she heard a knock on the glass sliding door leading to their balcony. She watched Sam put the bottle of orange juice he was chugging out of down, heading towards the door with a frown. </p><p>“I’m sorry about this. We need a place to lay low,” a male voice spoke up.</p><p>“Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” a woman added. </p><p>A beat of silence fell as Sam stood in the door opening, blocking whoever was outside from Julia’s view. “Not everyone,” he said, looking past them as he let them enter, before quickly shutting the door and closing the blinds. </p><p>The woman entered first, her face grey with dirt and her fiery hair messy, as if she had just been in a fight. Her eyes darted across the room as she looked for potential treats, before her eyes landed on Julia. Behind her, a man looking equally dishevelled in a grey shirt and a blue zip up hoodie stopped in his tracks as he too spotted her.</p><p>“I didn’t know you were married,” he said in a hushed voice, addressing Sam. </p><p>“That’s because I’m not,” Sam replied, subtly nodding at Julia, letting her know it was okay. “This is Julia. My roommate. The friend I told you about.”</p><p>“Ma’am,” he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. “Sorry for the intrusion.” He walked towards her, hand extended. “I’m Steve. Rogers. Sam told me much about you. I hope you can forgive us for barging into your home.”</p><p>“Julia McCoy,” she replied, taking his hand with a soft smile. “It’s definitely not the worst thing Sam’s responsible for.” </p><p>“I didn’t know you were up yet. It’s not even nine,” Sam interjected with an apologetic smile. </p><p>She shrugged, glancing at the woman, who in turn eyed her up and down before her look softened somewhat. </p><p>“Natasha,” she offered, holding her hands to her sides. “If we knew you’d be here, we would’ve chosen some place else.” </p><p>“Really, you don’t have to apologise. It must be bad, if it came to this,” Julia shrugged, choosing to fuss with the blanket that laid over the back of the couch as she walked a little further into the living room. “I’m not kidding when I say I’m prepared for worse, when it comes to Sam.” </p><p>“Boys,” Natasha offered with a small smile. </p><p>“You’re telling me,” Julia replied, smile getting wider. “Hey- feel free to say no, but I could put that hoodie in the washer for you, if you want. Might be nice to continue strategizing in something clean. Yours as well,” she added, gesturing at Steve. “I’d offer you my bathroom to get cleaned up, but I just took a bath and I haven’t cleaned yet, so it might be a little slippery.”</p><p>Steve smiled at her, lips pressed together as the corners tugged up. “Thank you.”</p><p>“You can use mine,” Sam offered. “Room, and bathroom. Changed the sheets this morning, so everything should be clean. There’s towels, too. Up the stairs, to your right.” </p><p>“Thanks Sam.” With a quiet squeeze to his shoulder from Steve, the pair disappeared upstairs, leaving Sam and Julia alone. </p><p>“You still think I’m lying?” Sam mumbled under his breath, breaking the silence as he bumped her ribs with his elbow.</p><p>“Oh, shut up you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. We're just human</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when taking down a big organisation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This took me longer than I'd to admit, as finals were absolutely brutal and followed by more deadlines right after. Also, the apartment started living its own life in my head after I couldn't find my references. If you see a mix of British and American spelling, no you didn't. See y'all soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do I even want to ask?” Julia murmured. She was sat at the kitchen table, watching Sam pace around the kitchen, finding various things to keep himself busy. Steve and Natasha were still upstairs and had been for a good twenty minutes.</p><p>Sam shrugged as he reached in the fridge to grab the eggs. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jules.” </p><p>“Yeah, me neither. Probably just ‘you just got pranked!’ if I’m being honest.”</p><p>Sam snorted in reply. “Yeah, that’s fair. How many eggs do you think I should use? For scrambled eggs? There’s ten left.” </p><p>He was hiding something. She could tell by the tension he held in his shoulders, as well as his constant skittering around. There was something about this situation that didn’t sit right with Sam, she just couldn’t figure out what it was. </p><p>“Just use all of them, Sam. Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” </p><p>He gripped the countertop, muscles twitching in his forearms as he did. A silence washed over the room, the only audible sounds the low hum of the fridge and cars passing by. It felt like an eternity before he answered. </p><p>“I can’t sit by.” </p><p>Very simple words, but enough to tell her all she needed to know. Julia shrunk back in her chair, shoulders hunched, her hands hidden under her thighs. </p><p>“I suppose I should’ve seen that coming,” she said quietly. She hated how small she sounded, how fragile she felt. Maybe most of all, how much pressure she was putting on Sam.</p><p>He spun around, facing her from where he was standing, the carton of eggs still in his hands. “Maybe they don’t even want me, but it would eat me alive if I didn’t even offer, Jules. I have to do this.” </p><p>She knew that even though Sam genuinely liked his job at the VA, there was some part of him that missed having a mission. That was something life out of service was never quite able to provide and though she knew he’d never say it out loud, he genuinely missed the action. Serving was no longer the right choice for Sam, but his need to fight for the right cause was persevering.</p><p>“I know, Sam. It’s okay.” </p><p>With three steps she was in front of him, taking the eggs from him and putting them to the side before wrapping her arms around his waist, silently hugging him. </p><p>He let out a steady breath, holding her in return, his arms loosely wrapped around her shoulders. </p><p>“Do you have the files here?” she asked, letting go. “Or are they with your sister?” </p><p>“They’re here. In the liquor cabinet, in a false bottom of the drawer.” </p><p>Her eyebrow shot up at that info. “There is a false bottom in that cabinet?” </p><p>He shrugged with a smug smile. “Gotta hide the good stuff somewhere.”</p><p>“Rude, Wilson,” she mumbled, already over by the cabinet and opening the drawer. There wasn’t much in there: just Sam’s file and the corner of a hidden photo peeking out from under it. Surprisingly, there also was a handgun hidden away. She carefully moved it aside, choosing to ignore it as she lifted the file, exposing the picture underneath.</p><p>It was of Sam and Riley, both in their combat gear, EXO-7 packs strapped on their backs. It wasn’t the most charming picture of Riley out there, but it was the exact smile he’d pull if he wanted to annoy her or was trying to convey that he was annoyed with the situation in public.</p><p>“I didn’t know you had this,” she said with a sad smile, closing the drawer and waving the picture in Sam’s direction. “That face. I’m pretty sure he was-”</p><p>“Glow in the dark?” Sam supplied, watching her with half an eye as he cracked the eggs in a bowl.</p><p>Julia barked out a laugh, caught off-guard by his joke. “You’re not wrong there. He very contrasted that dark suit nicely, didn’t he?” </p><p>Somewhere in that space rested a dark joke, neither of them quite willing to actually put it into words. </p><p>“I wasn’t sure if that was something you wanted to see,” Sam said, opening the drawer to grab a fork before he started whisking the eggs together. “Hell, I hid it away because I found it hard to look at.”</p><p>“It’s… It would’ve reduced me to a crying mess a year ago. Now it’s just… Another picture of him. Sad, but it keeps him alive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before, either.” </p><p>“I’m sorry.” </p><p>“You don’t have to say sorry,” she told him, laying both the file and picture on top of the cabinet. “He was your friend first; it makes sense that there’s stuff just between the two of you.” </p><p>Sam wordlessly opened the bag of bread, taking out a handful of slices to toast them.  </p><p>“This could be dangerous,” he said after a minute, turning back around to look at her. “If they want me. It might be the end of me having a safe, steady job. I need you to know that.” </p><p>He was implying many things, warning her of what might happen. 

The truth was that she feared for him daily. The world wasn’t kind to Sam, even despite the fact that he did nothing to warrant that mistrust. People saw the colour of his skin as an automatic red flag in unfortunate circumstances.</p><p>There had been more than one occasion where she cried over something that reminded her of Riley in the street, when she first started reconnecting with Sam. Cops would come up to them, harshly asking questions directed at Sam as to why she was crying. Despite knowing damn well he could stand up for himself, she was afraid for him in some capacity every day. Afraid and incredibly angry, because it would take just one cop that didn't see a human, but a threat.</p><p>“I know,” she said gently, joining him at the counter, testing the heat of the pan on the stove before letting the egg mixture slide in. “But I also know you. You’re a good man, Sam. I know… I know you wouldn’t do this if you didn’t think it was the right thing. I trust you.” </p><p>She left the part of not trusting the rest of the world out. </p><p>They continued making breakfast in silence, side by side until they had gathered everything. Julia reached into the fridge and pulled a new bottle of orange juice out. </p><p>“There’s a bottle open,” Sam said, turning the heat on the eggs down and wiping his hands on a dish towel. </p><p>“Yeah, well, you drank out of that without using a glass. I’m not serving guests your recycled saliva.” </p><p>“Fair point. I’ll put the stuff in the dryer real quick and get them.”</p><p>He made his way up the stairs, still clad in his jogging attire, disappearing out of sight. Julia sat down at the table, her back to the door, knowing both Sam and Riley’s quirks well enough to figure that Steve Rogers wouldn’t want to sit with his back to a door, especially when he’s clearly running from something. The other two chairs were opposite her, with the fourth chair at the head of the table, leaving enough space for Natasha to not have to deal with the potential danger of a glass sliding door, either. All the blinds on this floor of their apartment were closed, so not even Ethel, the nosy elderly neighbour could look in. </p><p>Sam made his way down the stairs, sitting down on the chair closest to the wall, as he usually did. Steve and Natasha followed quickly, both eerily quiet on the stairs. </p><p>“Hope eggs and toast is okay, because it’s all we have in at the moment. Shame it was my turn to cook breakfast this weekend, otherwise you’d undoubtedly have something fancier on your plate right now,” Sam frowned, dividing the eggs. </p><p>“Well darn,” Natasha joked. “Guess we’ll come back this time next week, then.” </p><p>“Darn?” Julia asked, trying to hide her smile. “Didn’t peg you for a darn kind of person.” </p><p>“Oh, she isn’t,” Steve answered before Natasha even got a chance to reply. “You should hear her sometimes, makes a grown man blush.” </p><p>“Yeah, well, doesn’t take much to take you blush, Rogers.” </p><p>“You got me,” he replied, not looking up in favour of spreading butter on his toast. </p><p>Something told Julia that he had this conversation to the point of it being tiring, but he chose to put up with it anyway, rather than tell people off. </p><p>A silence washed over the kitchen, the playlist Sam had put on during cooking in the background as knives and forks scraped over plates. </p><p>“So,” Sam eventually spoke up, leaning back in his chair, already finished with food. “You wanna tell me what’s going on out there?” </p><p>Steve let out a low sigh, finished with his food even quicker than Sam was. “How long have you got?” </p><p>Sam shrugged. “All day.” </p><p>Shifting in his seat, Steve launched into an elaborate story of what had happened. He spoke clearly, neither too slow nor too fast as he sketched a clear image of what his week, past meeting Sam on his morning jog, had entailed. </p><p>Julia didn’t really pay attention, zoning the sound of Steve’s voice out as she made her way through her own plate of food. Natasha supplied details at times, adding to his story, but never interrupting him. There was something oddly comforting about having a kitchen full of people having a serious conversation, even though the circumstances didn’t really lend themselves to that feeling. </p><p>Sam wordlessly cleared the table off once both Julia and Natasha were done eating, interrupting Steve only once, to ask him if he wanted more food. He looked almost sheepish as he confirmed that yes, he’d like another slice of toast, if Sam had any. It was strange, seeing a man Julia had previously only ever seen on the news at her kitchen table, the slightly hint of red on his cheeks, as if he felt bad asking for more food.</p><p>Though it was weird, she expected to feel threatened by him, having seen footage of him. He was bigger than she expected him to be, most of the men in her direct immediate vicinity no taller than 5’10” and nearly as old as the subjects they lectured about, but it was clear Steve made no assumptions as to whose space he was in. She somehow knew he’d immediately leave if she asked him to, which was a comforting thought. </p><p>Both Julia and Natasha had abandoned their seats several minutes ago, Natasha pacing back and forth as she was thinking out loud, Julia on the couch with her iPad leaning against her knees. </p><p>“Is this Riley?” Steve asked, pulling Julia’s attention back to the conversation being had in the kitchen. He was holding the picture she’d found earlier, looking up at Sam as Natasha continued to talk. His eyes briefly locked with hers, before looking back down at the photo, face blank but still somehow betraying that his mind was running millions of miles a minute. </p><p>“I heard they couldn’t bring in choppers, because of the RPGs,” Natasha said, marking the cue for Julia to entirely remove herself from the conversation. </p><p>Although she had made big steps in the process of coming to terms with Riley’s death, the subject of how he died was a sore one. Luckily, it wasn’t a conversation that popped its head up all too often, as people didn’t press beyond the ‘he died in combat’ reply. It wasn’t just a sore subject to her, either. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see it happen. </p><p>Sam did. </p><p>And yet, Sam looked back at her, silently checking in with her. </p><p>There was part of her that screamed <i>you don’t deserve him,</i>  a dark part of her mind that didn’t speak the truth. He was her friend: he chose her as much as she chose him.<br/>

Sam came with Riley, as much as Riley came with Sam, was something that she discovered quickly in their relationship. He had been a prominent, steady figure in her life as long as she’d known him. Where she could lean on him, he could lean on her. </p><p>The guilt she felt over shutting him out after Riley’s death was something she still struggled with, even though he reassured her many times that it was a normal response. She did the work. It was okay. </p><p>It didn’t feel okay.</p><p>Here was, once again checking in on her, checking how she felt about the indirect mention of a death he experienced. </p><p>She got up off the couch, quietly telling them she was going to check up on the dryer. Making her way up the stairs, she couldn’t hear it anymore from the small laundry room, indicating that it had finished its cycle. Taking their clothes out, she took the time to put a load of dark laundry that was on today’s schedule in the washing machine. </p><p>She was the person to do the laundry most of the time, though Sam did the ironing after the time he laughed at her for an hour straight for burning a hole in a pantleg. He still liked bringing it up at times, usually when he was poking fun at her.</p><p>Folding the other things she had put in with Steve and Natasha’s clothes, she hummed a song under her breath until she was done. She dropped Sam’s dark button downs and slacks on the pile that needed ironing before heading back downstairs, to find all three of them stood around the kitchen table. </p><p>“Ma’am, again, we’re sorry for intruding,” Steve started as Sam raced past her, up the stairs. “And for your loss.” </p><p>“Thank you,” she told him with a soft smile, handing the clothes to him and Natasha.</p><p>He looked so sincere that it almost made her sad. Like he had suffered too much loss himself and knew how debilitating it could be.</p><p>It made him human. </p><p>She wasn’t looking at Captain America. This was Steve Rogers, a man that had suffered tremendous amounts of loss and kept going. </p><p>“You don’t have to say ma’am, though.” </p><p>“Force of habit,” he shrugged. “But really, thank you for opening your home.” </p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>“We should get going, Sam,” Steve said, looking past her at Sam, who had changed surprisingly quickly. </p><p>“Right,” Sam coughed, turning to look at her with an apologetic look. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.” </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>“Please stay inside until you hear from me. I’ll probably call from a burner phone, so they can’t trace it.” </p><p>He wrapped his arms around Julia, squeezing tightly. </p><p>“Be safe,” she whispered, gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly, as if that would assure the statement. “Come home, okay?” </p><p>He didn’t reply. </p><p>She was glad he didn’t. </p><p>The door slid shut, leaving Julia alone in the kitchen, watching them run down the small side street until she could no longer see them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If anyone has ideas as to how I could tag the racism that Sam deals with, please share! I want to tag appropriately and am very open to suggestions. My tumblr can be found <a href="https://paintmyspiritgold.tumblr.com/">here</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I know who you are now.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some requests aren't meant to be disobeyed, but that doesn't stop Julia from helping out a friend and ending up in the middle of the attack on D.C.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter fought me like it was a toddler that didn't want to  take a nap, to be honest. </p>
<p>Anyway. Hope you enjoy, see you soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time crept by slowly, minutes feeling hours, hours feeling like days. Keeping her mind from running miles a minute proved to be a in task in and of itself, especially as Julia forced herself to stay away from radio, internet and tv. She’d made her way through deep cleaning the stove, organising the pantry and had moved on to cleaning the fridge when the phone rang. </p>
<p>“Hiya,” she answered, not bothering to check caller ID, expecting Sam to be on the other end of the call. </p>
<p>“Hey Jules,” Alison greeted. “Sorry for bothering you-”</p>
<p>“Never a bother, we’ve been over this,” Julia interrupted, walking over to the record player to select the next album to play. “What’s up?” </p>
<p>“Yeah, so, the sitter just called and Austin’s running a fever and throwing up,” she said, sounding as if she was walking. “He probably just picked up a stomach bug going around at his school. Normally we don’t have to call her in on the weekends, but Neill’s at a conference in Philly and I needed to cover a shift, so I can’t leave until four.” </p>
<p>Julia glanced at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. It was two o’clock, marking four hours since Sam, Steve and Natasha had left. </p>
<p>“I wouldn’t ask, but Melanie’s only sixteen and she’s kinda freaking out. Would you be willing to pick up some kids Tylenol and check up on them?” </p>
<p>“Yes,” Julia said, already taking her jacket off the coatrack and checking her bag to make sure everything was in there. “Of course. Anything else?” </p>
<p>“Some popsicles, I think we have Jell-O in the pantry. Just try whatever to get him to take fluids, so he doesn’t dehydrate. I’ve told Melanie the same, just mind the sugar a little. Or let him munch on some ice chips, he likes to do that anyway.” </p>
<p>“Tell her I’ll be there in… Maybe half an hour to forty-five minutes. Shouldn’t be any later than that.” </p>
<p>“You’re an angel,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m gonna see if they can’t let me go any earlier, but I should be home around 4:30.” </p>
<p>“No worries, Al. I can handle a vomiting toddler.” </p>
<p>That might have been a stretch, but she wasn’t going to tell Alison that, nor was she going to tell her that Sam had asked her to stay home. </p>
<p>It wasn’t that Julia liked ignoring Sam’s request, but when it came to friends, there was very little that would stop her from helping them out. She vaguely recalled a conversation with her grandfather, asking her if her friend jumped, if she would too. </p>
<p>Yes. The answer had always been yes, even if just to save their asses. </p>
<p>She doublechecked if everything she needed was really in her bag, before making the usual round around the house to check if all doors and windows where closed. Satisfied with everything, she locked the front door and made her way to her car. </p>
<p>It made her slightly nervous that Sam hadn’t called, despite the fact it had been four hours at most. No news is good news, people say, but she wasn’t sure she really agreed with that statement. </p>
<p>She made her way to Target on complete autopilot, finding the Tylenol with no problem. Selecting popsicles, however, proved to be a challenge, the selection much bigger than she expected it to be. She eventually picked up a box of sugar free ones, taking them to the cash register where the cashier smiled as she rang Julia up. </p>
<p>“Stomach bug?” she asked. </p>
<p>Julia nodded. “So I’ve been told. When mom can’t leave work, auntie duty calls.”</p>
<p>“Both of my boys came down last week. They were up and running again the next day, mom has nothing to worry about. That’ll be 11.50.” </p>
<p>She handed the woman the cash and took her stuff with a small smile. </p>
<p>“Thank you. Have a good day.” </p>
<p>“You as well.” </p>
<p>Clutching the items in her hands, she made her way back to her car, trying to recall if she ever made her way to Alison’s from this part of the city. She usually took another route, one that required her to drive the highway until the right exit, but it didn’t make sense to drive back. It would be fifteen minute drive tops from here, probably closer to ten. Turning the heat down so the popsicles wouldn’t melt, so made her way out of the parking lot, turning to the left. </p>
<p>Everything that followed, happened in the blink of an eye. </p>
<p>Debris came crashing down, rolling down the street as it rained down from the highway running above the road she was on. Around her, people were pumping their breaks, getting ready to either turn around or abandon their vehicle completely to run from whatever was going on. </p>
<p>Before she knew what was happened, a truck crashed into a bus that was crossing the intersection, tipping the bus over just a few feet from her car.</p>
<p>Chaos reigned; panicked screams audible even through the closed car windows. Julia sat still, both hands on the steering wheel as her mind ran miles a minute, trying to figure out what to do. </p>
<p>Run. Help the wounded. Reverse and go back home. </p>
<p>She should’ve listened to Sam. </p>
<p>Around her, people were running, adrenaline fuelling their system as they made their way in all different directions, trying to escape the horror that was unfolding on the road in front of her. </p>
<p>So, she did the same. Parking her car on the middle of the sidewalk (she wouldn’t even be surprised if the local cops would jump on the opportunity to fine her and have it towed), she reached into her bag to stuff her ID into her pocket, immediately clocking a mother struggling with two crying children a few feet away from her as she jumped out the car. </p>
<p>Twins, she gathered, around three. The woman wasn’t tall, quite skinny as well, and though adrenaline was one hell of a drug, Julia knew she wouldn’t make it far if she had to carry both of them. </p>
<p>“You grab one, I grab the other,” she called out, scooping up the kid as the mother immediately shoved the small girl towards her. “We go left on the intersection. It’s about half a mile before there’s another intersection, it’s much more covered there. We can’t risk going into a building here,” she yelled as she hoisted the toddler onto her hip, the girl immediately clasping her arms around Julia’s neck. </p>
<p>She ran like mad, the woman on her heels as they made their way down the street. The unmistakable sound of automatic rifles being fired echoed through the city, bullet shells raining down on cars and concrete behind them. She couldn’t look back, not even if she wanted to, but there was no doubt that this wasn’t the work of an individual. </p>
<p>It was also, thankfully, the first time she’d ever been close to violence on this scale. </p>
<p>Back when she lived with her grandparents, the occasional shot was heard in the neighbourhood. She asked about it, and was told it was an arguably twisted way of keeping the rent in the area low. No one was being actively shot: it was just the woman that lived a few minutes away that occasional took her shotgun into the yard and emptied out a few bullets into the sky. </p>
<p>This, however, was in a league of its own. </p>
<p>Not really sure where the strength was coming from, they kept running until they reached the second intersection Julia had mentioned, slowing down before coming to a standstill as she heard someone calling out.</p>
<p>The road was littered with abandoned cars, most of them with the doors still open, their owners running to get as far away from the scene as possible. Julia handed the girl to her mother, eyes scanning the road for the source of the sound.</p>
<p>“I have to see if there’s more people,” she told her, knowing full well how stupid she was being. </p>
<p>“Come with us,” the woman begged, hoisting the toddler on her free hip. “To safety.” </p>
<p>Julia shook her head. “I have to go look.”</p>
<p>She could just about feel several ghosts smack the back of her head for that statement. </p>
<p>“Go,” she added, nodding towards the woman. “Get out of here. Get to safety.” </p>
<p>The woman hesitated, mouth opening and closing again before running off between the buildings, leaving Julia alone on the sidewalk of the road. </p>
<p>The sound had disappeared. Gunshots had picked up again, the sound inching closer, as well as the eerie sound of metal tearing under pressure. </p>
<p>It wasn’t until a few moments later she saw Steve in the middle of the road, standing completely still as he stared at a man in the middle of the road, something about the look on his face making him appear years younger. </p>
<p>There wasn’t much distance between herself and the man in black, Julia seemingly nailed to the sidewalk as she watched him pull a gun from a holster on his leg, the tension only breaking when Sam swooped in from behind, kicking him over.</p>
<p>It was then Julia came to her senses, running across the road to remove herself from the scene and put some distance between herself and the man that had landed closer to her than he originally was. </p>
<p>She locked eyes with Sam as he landed next to a taxi, a look of pure shock written over his face before a deafening sound overpowered everything, a searing pain following immediately after. </p>
<p>A loud, guttural scream overpowered the sound of the sirens in the distance, Sam suddenly crouched next to her. </p>
<p>“I told you to stay <i>home</i>,” he burst out, taking her head in his hands, pinning her to ground. “What are you doing, Julia?!” </p>
<p>“Alison needed me,” she gasped in reply, a red-hot pain searing through her body as she struggled against his hold. </p>
<p>“You aren’t of much use to Alison dead, are you now?” Sam said, voice oddly even. His face betrayed him, eyes dark and his eyebrows knitted together as several cars screeched to a halt around them. “I told you to stay in for a reason—”</p>
<p>“GET ON YOUR KNEES, ROGERS,” a man yelled, drowning out the rest of Sam’s sentence as he approached Steve, followed by more men dressed him the same tactical gear as himself, all holding a gun or automatic rifle.  </p>
<p>“Get away from the woman, Wilson. Hands behind your head,” another man called out, approaching Sam from behind, an automatic rifle aimed at his head. </p>
<p>Sam scootched back a little, folding his hands behind her head as he did.  </p>
<p>“Don’t you dare die on me, McCoy,” he hissed as several more men approached from behind. “I can’t have that.” </p>
<p>“I’ll try,” she slurred faintly, fighting the black edges that crowded her vision. “I think I have to stop making promises, though.” </p>
<p>Sam being pulled up by his arms, watching her with a frown was the last thing she saw before her vision went completely black, leaving her unconscious on the sidewalk in the middle of DC, once more completely alone in life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oops. </p>
<p>Find me over on <a href="https://paintmyspiritgold.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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